


sinking toward a deeper blue

by brinnanza



Series: The More the Merrier [11]
Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, Episode: s08e15 Yessir That's Our Baby, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 07:43:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14564286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brinnanza/pseuds/brinnanza
Summary: “I know,” BJ says. There’s a desperate crack in his voice, and Hawkeye wishes he know how to soothe it away, to smooth out the rough edges left behind when distance and loss cracks him into pieces. “But I can’t just leave her there. What kind of life is that for a little girl? How am I supposed to look my own kid in the face after what I’ve done?”





	sinking toward a deeper blue

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Living in Twilight" by the Weepies. Thanks for Zeta for beta reading.

A hand on Hawkeye’s shoulder shakes him awake as tense voice whispers in his ear, “Hawkeye, wake up.” Hawkeye blinks open bleary eyes to find BJ crouched down beside his cot, face pale enough to rival the moon. “Come on, Hawk, get up.”

Hawkeye scrubs a hand over his face and the panic in BJ’s voice finally registers. “Choppers?” he says, voice still muzzy with sleep. No, it’s still dark out -- ambulances then. He can’t have been asleep for more than a couple of hours, but that’s probably all he needs to perform complicated surgical procedures.

Guilt flashes briefly across BJ’s face, but it clears almost immediately. “Not wounded. We have to go back. I need you to come with me.”

“Go back _where_ ,” Hawkeye starts, annoyed in advance, and then it dawns on him. “BJ, it’s the middle of the night. You know, when good little surgeons sometimes get the chance to sleep?”

“I know,” BJ says. There’s a desperate crack in his voice, and Hawkeye wishes he know how to soothe it away, to smooth out the rough edges left behind when distance and loss cracks him into pieces. “But I can’t just leave her there. What kind of life is that for a little girl? How am I supposed to look my own kid in the face after what I’ve done?”

Hawkeye glances over to where Charles is snoring faintly, but probably not for long. This isn’t a conversation Hawkeye wants to involve him in, so he reaches up to grab his robe and pulls it on. “Just a sec, okay?” He shoves his feet into his boots, not bothering to lace them. “Outside. Come on.”

BJ follows him out of the tent, and Hawkeye pulls his robe a little tighter against the cool evening. Out here, under the yellow camp lights and scraps of moonlight, the bags under BJ’s eyes stand out like bruises, and shadows etch years into his face.

“We have to go back for her, Hawk,” BJ says, hugging himself against the night. His voice is colder out here, determined. He starts pacing, a meandering path that takes him toward the motor pool and back again.

“We did what we had to.” The words sound hollow to Hawkeye’s own ears, but he’s pretty sure this is something words can’t fix. “We tried every single other option.”

BJ’s hands curl into fists, and he shakes his head. “I can’t accept that.” It’s not really about this kid, Hawkeye knows, or any of these kids here. BJ’s just grasping for whatever he can reach, anything that’s close enough to what he left behind. 

“You can’t save every kid in Korea,” Hawkeye says. Hypocrisy leaves a bitter taste on his tongue, but one of them has to be practical. He’s has been here longer, almost long enough for war to burn the hope out of him. 

“Then what the hell are we here for?”

“I wish I knew.” He reaches out for BJ to offer some small comfort, the only thing he knows besides a joke, but BJ just pulls away from him.

He hadn’t thought it was possible to hate this place more, the bloodshed and loss and long hours, but every day Hawkeye thinks he does, hates it just a little bit more than yesterday, hates all the miles between BJ and the place he should be, hates the selfish part of himself that’s actually _glad_ BJ is stuck here with him so he doesn’t have to go through it alone. Hates _himself_ because he can’t do anything more than slap a bandage on so many broken things.

“A MASH unit’s no place for a baby,” Hawkeye says because he has to say something. “You know that.”

“It could be,” BJ says. “You saw how everyone wanted to take care of her. We’ve got a whole camp full of babysitters.”

Hawkeye wonders if BJ even believes that himself. “And what about when we get shelled? If we have to bug out? A baby’s not a still, Beej, you can’t just put it in the back of a taxi and hope for the best.”

“There’s kids getting shelled all over this damn country,” BJ says. “We can keep her safe. _I_ can keep her safe.”

Hawkeye isn’t quite cruel enough to remind him that they can’t keep anyone safe here, no matter how much they might want to. “Alright, alright. Say you manage to make it work. What are you gonna do when they finally light up the exit sign, smuggle her home in your duffle bag?”

“I’ll tell them she’s mine. That I’m the father. Peg will understand when I explain it to her.”

“They’ll do a blood test,” Hawkeye points out. “What if you don’t match?”

BJ throws up his hands. “I’ll fake the test! I’ll say I was covering for you, I’ll --”

“BJ --”

“I have to do _something_.” BJ whirls around to face him, nostrils flaring as his breathing quickens, and Hawkeye takes an involuntary step backwards. He’s seen that look on BJ’s face once before, desperate and hurting, and it had led to a bout of destruction Hawkeye’s not too keen to repeat, especially since the only thing within striking distance is Hawkeye’s face. “Come with me or don’t, but I’m going.”

He stalks off toward the motor pool, and Hawkeye runs after him. The choice between a black eye and BJ wrecking a jeep in the middle of the night or running across a nest of snipers or disappearing without a trace is no contest at all, and Hawkeye will gladly risk the bruising. “BJ, _wait,”_ he says, reaching out for BJ’s shoulder.

BJ rounds on him, and Hawkeye braces himself, but BJ just drops his head, all the fight going out of him at once. His shoulders slump and he says in a ragged voice, “Hawk, I -- I close my eyes and I just keep seeing that kid we abandoned. What if no one gets to her? What if she’s cold or hungry or -- and I keep seeing her and I keep seeing Erin in her place, and I can’t…”

Something sharp and cold catches in Hawkeye’s chest and he says, “Okay.” What’s one more sleepless night if it will grant BJ some peace? “On one condition. You let me drive.” BJ opens his mouth to protest, and Hawkeye holds up a hand. “I’ve seen the way you drive, and the middle of the night is not going to do it any favors.”

Relief pulls BJ’s mouth into a pale imitation of a smile and he throws his arms around Hawkeye, pulling him into a fierce hug. “Thank you,” he murmurs into Hawkeye’s hair.

Hawkeye hums a vague response. He’d drive BJ all the way back to Mill Valley if he could, army regs be damned.

  


There’s a sentry on guard at the motor pool, a kid named Aster who’s barely old enough to drive a car, never mind guard them. Hawkeye gives him a cheery little wave and says, “Hi dad. Mind if we borrow the car?”

Aster glances between him and BJ, the forced lightness in Hawkeye’s tone and the determined set of BJ’s jaw. “If you don’t mind me asking, sir, just where are you planning to go in the middle of the night?”

“Important doctor business,” Hawkeye says. He winks, but Aster just lifts his eyebrows at him. “I’ll have it back by dawn.”

“Whatever you say, sir,” Aster says, stepping out of the way. He’ll probably pull rank on Hawkeye later if he needs to, claim Hawkeye made it an order, but they should be back long before that’s necessary.

He throws his medical bag in the back of the nearest jeep and climbs into the driver’s seat. BJ climbs in beside him, and Hawkeye pulls out of the compound, headlights catching the dust kicked up by the tires and little else.

“You remember how to get there?” BJ asks. His hands are balled into fists on his knees, and his spine is ramrod straight, which is no easy task in the passenger seat of an army jeep.

“It was you that got us lost on Thanksgiving, remember?” BJ’s hard expression doesn’t flicker and Hawkeye lets out a slow breath. “Yes, I remember how to get there.”

It’s a long drive but fairly straightforward. The mutually agreed-upon ceasefire surrounding the monastery means that the road gets better as they go on, mortar craters shrinking to mere pockmarks, and Hawkeye drives a little faster than he might otherwise.

“Y’know, technically we’re AWOL,” Hawkeye observes offhandedly after they’ve been driving for a while. He glances over at BJ, but BJ doesn’t respond, just keeps staring into the darkness ahead of them like he can will the monastery into being sooner. “Right, well, who cares what the army thinks anyway?”

They make the rest of the trip in silence. Hawkeye taps his fingers restlessly on the steering wheel, biting back a thousand little comments and bad jokes. He’s desperate for something to break up the tension that’s settled between them like a third companion, but he doubts anything he could say would be particularly well-received.

Finally, the monastery comes into view, tucked into the brush off of the side of the road. The jeep is still slowing to a stop when BJ leaps out, dashing toward the cradle where they’d left the girl a few hours ago. Hawkeye turns the engine off and follows BJ toward the building.

The cradle is empty. Hawkeye hadn’t really expected otherwise - Father Mulcahy had been pretty confident there would be someone there to take her in. BJ pulls on the rope hanging beside it, and the clang of the bell echoes into the still night. He pauses a moment, listening, and then when no one answers, he pulls it again.

“Beej...” Hawkeye says cautiously. He doubts the monks will open up no matter how many times they ring, but with enough noise, some North Koreans might. 

BJ just ignores him, abandoning the bell in favor of pounding his fist against the building. “I know you’re in there!” he yells, an angry snarl that catches in the middle. “We changed our minds; we want her back!”

Hawkeye takes a step back, letting BJ throw all his rage and guilt and misery at the unyielding stone wall. If this futile pursuit is what BJ needs to make his peace with leaving his own family, then so be it. 

The next blow leaves a streak of red on white, and now Hawkeye does stop him, grabbing BJ’s wrist before he can make it worse. “Come on, Beej,” he says, tugging BJ away from the monastery. “You’re gonna mess up that hand, and we still need it.”

“Let go!” BJ snarls, struggling against Hawkeye’s grip. “She’s in there somewhere, and I’m not gonna -- I can’t --” His voice breaks, and he drags in a ragged breath before sagging against Hawkeye, shoulders shaking as he sobs. His hands come up to clutch the back of Hawkeye’s robe, and Hawkeye holds him close, rubbing circles on his back.

They stand together for a long moment, silent save for BJ’s shuddering breaths. There’s something scalpel-sharp in Hawkeye’s chest, the aching certainty that he can’t make this better. He’d crawl into the monastery through the cradle, find the baby himself if he thought that would help, but he’s watched BJ try to fill the empty spaces in his heart with other things, other people, and it’s never enough.

“C’mon,” Hawkeye says eventually. He draws back just enough to press a kiss to the top of BJ’s head. It’s small comfort he knows, but it’s all he has. “Let’s go home.”

BJ lifts his head from Hawkeye’s shoulder, his eyes still wet and rimmed in red. “That’s not home,” he says, still clutching onto Hawkeye like a lifeline. “I can’t -- I can’t call it that.”

“I know,” Hawkeye says, “but it’s the closest thing we’ve got here.” Close enough is all they ever get here, and it isn’t, not by a long shot.

  


Morning dawns too early, pale and streaked with red like surgical whites. Hawkeye would gladly cast it off, sleep through until he can wake up stateside, but he drags himself out of bed when he hears BJ moving around on the other side of the tent.

Charles is gone already, to breakfast or to Post Op (both equally unappetizing). Hawkeye makes his way over to where BJ is pulling on his robe, the weary lines in his forehead adding twenty years to his face. (It’s only been a year, Hawkeye realizes abruptly, since BJ arrived in Kimpo, looking lost and impossibly young.)

“Hey,” Hawkeye says, stepping in close to BJ. He wraps one hand around BJ’s wrist and brings it up so he can inspect the damage from last night. It’s extremely superficial, scabbed over already, so Hawkeye brushes a soft kiss over BJ’s knuckles and slips his arms around BJ’s waist. “You okay?” he says into BJ’s neck before dropping a gentle kiss there as well.

BJ wraps his arms around Hawkeye, resting his head against Hawkeye’s. “No. Not really.” 

It’s too honest for the hour. Hawkeye is tempted to sweep it aside with a palliative joke, but instead he says, “You will be.” He’s not sure it’s true, but maybe just saying it is enough.

BJ lets out a heavy sigh that stirs Hawkeye’s hair. “I will be,” he agrees.

Hawkeye’s not sure BJ believes it either.


End file.
